The Earth laughs in flowers; Perhaps it is why the past few weeks seem over come with joy. Each barely audible first breath of each tiny new leaf asks, each green sprig a miracle full of curiosity: will I be a wildflower or a weed?

I spent my Easter in a perfect place, surrounded by family and young children. I cannot remember the last time I colored Easter Eggs, but it all held true to tradition and form. The attempted use of the octagonal piece of bent wire provided by some multi-million dollar company to retrieve the egg from the dye at best, or at worst give every person over the age of 12 an exercise in futility. The never ending battle to be the one holding the clear wax crayon. The blue pellet inserted into the mouth of a little one, the quick retrieval and deposit of the remnant into an odorous coffee cup full of vinegar. Little eyes peering over the side to watch the fizzy bubbling, the fascinated glare followed by a smile full of still blue teeth. I am sure that I ate my full share of color pellets in my time, and to see another do the same... well it gives the Universe a sense of continuity, of solidarity between the present and the past.

Later, after running in a large, green yard in my Sunday shoes pulling one enraptured child after another in a red wagon down a hill and around the bushes (do it agian! This time I want to ride with my doll), and pushing same said children one after the other on a swing, and then collapsing into a giggling mass while they tried to capture bees and butterflies in their magic bubbles, I came to understand a great truth about spring: growing things have no cares about what they will become. They feel only the warmth of the sun the sweetness of the breeze, the tickle on their skin from dew drops and friends passing by. And what is a wild flower and what is a weed has no translation to that medium. It is a creation of minds too old to see that the miracle is GROWING- not becoming something. The miracle is BEING -not manifesting. The miracle is LOVING - not being loved. The miracle of spring is joy for it's own sake. It think there was a time when I new that, and I am so glad that Universal continuity refuses to let me forget.

So after you read this, do this storyteller a favor... go to a place with soft fresh grass, take off your shoes and wiggle your toes. Take a deep breath and remember that this IS life. Right now.